


Taking Care

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Drunken Shenanigans, Embarrassment, Food Poisoning, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Loss, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Sickfic, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, well I guess it's personal opinion if they're 'major' or 'minor'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-28 22:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: "Okay, hold on.”“To what?”“Me.”aka five times that Barnum took care of Phillip, and one time Phillip took care of Barnum





	1. Drunk

**1.**

“Okay, Carlyle, come on.”

“What’ve I done?”

“Not much, yet.”

_“Yet?”_

_God,_ he was too _drunk_ to be having this conversation. But then he _had_ to be drunk. There was no chance of not being, not tonight, not when he’d just given up every ounce of the life and respect he’d known so far just to _join the circus._ His family was held in high regard. _He_ was held in high regard! He’d just… thrown it all away. For what? For a chance at having fun? What was he thinking? What had he _done?_

Barnum was so right, though. Day to day was _boring._ Typical. He did the same thing everyday, same place, same people– wouldn’t be getting that when he worked with Barnum. The freedom he’d have with this job… whatever this job _entailed…_ he didn’t even know what he was getting into. He was simultaneously terrified and… thrilled.

“Barnum.”

“Hmm?”

He squinted up at him. “How are you not drunk?”

“Years of practice.” Barnum smiled, a polished thing. God he had the face of a showman. Charismatic and… all of that. It was no surprise he was the new up and coming idol.

“Years of practice– I’m so drunk,” Phillip muttered. “We should get–”

“We should get you home,” Barnum interrupted fluidly, slipping his arm beneath Phillip’s. “Where do you live?”

“Here.”

Barnum laughed like it was genuinely humorous, fingers tightening around his arm. “You don’t live here. Try to think.”

“Oh, I am thinking _way_ too much,” Phillip muttered. “Wait, it’s… wait, it’s down there.” He gestured vaguely, and then missed the bottom step as they descended from the entrance of the bar. “Uff–” He scrabbled for purchase against the man veritably holding him up.

 _“Carlyle.”_ He still sounded far too amused. “You’re a mess, man.”

He clutched at Barnum’s arm. “Who’s fault is that? Who did that?” He mimed taking a shot, and then had to hold onto Barnum’s arm with both hands. “The world’s swimmin’.”

“Trust me, it’s not.”

“Trust me, it _is.”_

“This is going to be _so_ much fun.” It was an off hand comment, one that had Phillip side-eyeing him before he went and tripped over his own feet again. “Come on, keep up.”

“You’re moving too _fast!”_

“I’m moving at a regular human pace.”

“Quit laughing at me.”

“Sorry, I can’t quite seem to help myself,” Barnum replied brightly, just enough lightness in his tone that made Phillip think the man wasn’t as _not drunk_ as he claimed he was.

He could walk, though. Better than he was doing, he guessed.

“Oh God, everyone’s going to be laughing at me.” He very nearly turned his face into Barnum’s shoulder. Something stopped him in the back of his mind, but the promise of abject humiliation was near enough to knock him over.

“Let them laugh.” Barnum shrugged. “I’ve found you don’t get very far if you worry about it.”

“You worry about what people say. You have to.”

“Mm. There’s people that hate what I do. Just makes me want to do it even more. Besides,” he grinned, plopping his top hat down on Phillip’s head. Phillip thought he might have _giggled_ as he fumbled to keep it on. God he hoped he didn’t remember this in the morning. “If you can make even one person happy, that’s what matters. That’s what it’s all for. One person…”

“Wife?” Phillip asked, head tilted.

“Wife,” Barnum agreed, and patted his arm. “Watch your ste–”

Phillip pitched forward off of the curb.

“Phill– okay, hold on.”

“To what?”

“Me.”

His vision really blurred then; the world turned over and his feet were off the ground and then… he was hefted over Barnum’s shoulder like a sack of flour and– “Christ!” he yelped, grabbing ahold of his arm. “Put me down! How can you even carry– there’s people out, Barnum!!”

“Then quiet down and tell me where you live,” Barnum replied, laughter in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for 5 and 1, gosh. and Phillip, and Barnum. updates will be quick, the tags will be updated for every chapter so check them ahead of time if you worry about them!


	2. Anxious

**2.**

“You’re on in…”

He was going to be sick. There were too many people and… well, he’d been through the steps and the songs and cues over and over again, late into the night with Barnum walking him through every routine. But the _nerves_. He was _sweating_ through the overcoat, surely. He was going to walk out there, puke on the sidelines, and wouldn’t _that_ be a show that everyone wanted to take in? Phillip scrubbed his hands on his pants and breathed out sharply.

“… three… two… one… _go.”_

“Oh, _Barnum_ ,” he muttered, fixed his hat, and sprinted into the ring. It wasn’t as though he was unprepared, truly. Barnum wouldn’t put him out there if he didn’t believe he could handle it. And he _had_ be to prepared to handle it in the event that Barnum wasn’t there or couldn’t perform.

And he was fine, up until a spin that put him out of the ring and into audience participation, nearly, interacting closer with the crowd to excite them further and– God, there were a lot of people. A lot of people. Watching him. Well, watching the show, but he was leading the show, so they were watching him and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, words forgotten as the orchestra music continued to play.

 _Damn_ it–

He spun back around to their performers, frantically trying to think of their backup plan and then realizing they didn’t even _have_ one–

 _“– this is the greatest show!”_ Barnum was suddenly _in_ the ring, effortlessly falling in, leaving Phillip staring at him and blinking in surprise. Well, maybe _he_ didn’t have a backup plan. Of course _Barnum_ did. _“It’s everything you ever want!”_

Phillip jogged back in, tossing the walking stick between them. Barnum caught it effortlessly, the easy smile still on his face. Phillip wanted to slink off and never show his own face again, but he resisted, dropping back behind their lead.

 _“It’s everything you ever need, and it’s here right in front of you. This is where you wanna be.”_ Barnum caught his eye, lifting the stick in question– warning– and Phillip barely had enough presence of mind to catch it as it came flying back at him. “Keep going,” Barnum mouthed, and Phillip swallowed the lump in his throat and _adapted._

_“It’s everything you ever want, it’s everything you ever need, and it’s here right in front of you… this is where you wanna be.”_

He passed the stick back when the performers came in with the vocals, doing his very best not to frown in the midst of the show. “Thanks,” he whispered instead.

“Nice recovery,” Barnum murmured. Didn’t look at him, didn’t miss a goddamn step and somehow it was easier to keep up with their ringmaster at his side.

“Nice _save,”_ Phillip muttered, and Barnum grinned, passing the baton back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of Phillip freezing in the face of sudden stage fright but I also really like the idea of them performing _together_ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ xD


	3. Sick

“Phillip.”

Oh, _why_ did he have to be disturbed _now–_ he could swear he’d only just gotten to sleep, he wanted to _stay_ asleep–

“Phillip. What’s wrong?”

He garbled something nonsensical. He’d been vomiting since late last night, almost certain it was to do with dinner he’d eaten. He had been fine before and then… the cramps were enough to have him curled up in bed, not bothering to turn down the blankets. Fisting his hands into the duvet didn’t help, but it _felt_ like it might. The other arm was wrapped around his gut, trying to ride out the pain, and when he wasn’t doing _that,_ he was hunched over a bucket he’d dropped next to the bed. A too close encounter of not nearly making it to the bathroom and the aches and pains that had come with repeated heaving made it so the only place he was comfortable throwing up at involved not getting out of bed. It wasn’t pretty, but he felt like he was dying here. He couldn’t care.

“We figured something was wrong when you didn’t show up for work. You didn’t accept my telegram, either.”

Skin against his forehead, burning hot and _pleasant_ for the chills racking his body. Phillip whined quietly, and then the words filtered through. Work. Show up for work. _Work. At the circus._ And the voice speaking to him was awfully familiar–

“Barnum,” he choked, eyes flying open. He was immediately pressing a hand into the mattress, trying to push himself up. He’d missed work. He’d skipped out, without telling them, without telling Barnum where he was or what had happened. _Jesus,_ he was probably furious with him. “Practice–”

“Yes, we missed you.” Barnum rest a hand at his shoulder. “You’re sick. What’s wrong?”

“I–” Oh, movement was _not_ good– his stomach was protesting _violently;_ he felt the burn of acid climbing up the back of his throat and panicked, hands flying to the mattress to push himself up before he could vomit on the bed, or _worse,_ Barnum himself– “mmph–”

“Ahh, that explains something. Here.”

The bucket was firmly pressed into his lap before he could even move, which was just as well; he curled around it as much as he was able to draw himself into the smallest place possible. The humiliation stung almost as bad as the bile that had been forcing itself up for the past twenty-four hours now.

“How long has that been happening?”

He didn’t know if it was better or worse that he sounded so blasé about it. “… a day,” he rasped, and tried to hold back the shivers shaking his body. It was so cold, and he was so sweaty at the same time. This was _miserable_.

Barnum had moved around to the other side of the bed, fumbling with something. Phillip flinched when a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, quietly moaned at the sheer _pain_ of it all, but the other man didn’t seem to notice. “Any ideas about it?”

“… food.” When he was relatively certain he wasn’t going to throw up again, he shakily set the bucket down. “I think.”

An incredulous look over his shoulder as Barnum headed towards the bathroom. “What did you _eat?”_

He’d rather not revisit it. It was painstaking trouble to get himself sat back against the pillows and keep the blanket wrapped around himself, but he managed. “… don’t even ask.”

Barnum made some noise in response and just when Phillip was about to close his eyes, his friend was back in the room, speaking again. Always in motion. He made Phillip’s head hurt worse than it already did.

“Here. You need to drink this. All of it, if you can, you need to stay hydrated.” He held out a glass of water; continued when Phillip hesitated to put anything _else_ into his stomach. “If you throw up again, it’s still better to have had it.”

“Ugh…” Yes, he _knew_ , but… well, it would take away the bad taste in his mouth at least. He managed three swallows before he inevitably gagged, hurriedly handing the glass off to Barnum as he still managed to keep it down. “Oh my god, this is _horrible_.”

“Try this… where, oh.”

He’d closed his eyes again, and opened them in time to see Barnum slid a small tin open and produce a piece of candy from it.

“… sweets?” Phillip murmured, but took it from him without complaining. He couldn’t care at this point. So long as it wasn’t substantial.

“Ginger,” Barnum replied.

“… ah.” He put it on his tongue, and rest his head back against the headboard as the flavor washed over his mouth. “Thanks…”

“Sure.” The mattress creaked from weight on it, Barnum sitting on it, probably and then “do you mind?”

“… you gonna doctor me, Barnum?” he mumbled. He was mostly beyond caring there, now, too.

“I might just,” Barnum replied, and once again reached over to palm Phillip’s sweaty forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of _course_ I was gonna do a sickfic, I mean, that's just _predictable_ of me at this stage in the game 
> 
> also! thanks so much for the support on this story? I keep telling myself tGS is kind of a "niche" fandom so I'm thrilled by the positive reactions I've been getting to this and my other tGS stuff! I really appreciate it :DD


	4. Loss

He hadn’t been on well with his parents since he had joined Barnum’s trope, but the telegram from his father telling him of his mother’s sudden and fast-approaching death had nearly knocked the wind out of him. Which meant his knees had buckled when he’d read it; he didn’t know the look on his face but Barnum gave him the most concerned one in reply, and then dropped everything and told him to _go._ He had, with promises from Anne to write him later and reassurances from Barnum despite that look on his face, grabbing his coat and taking off running for a cab.

It happened quickly, and Phillip was left reeling from the shock, from his father’s lack of emotion– “a proper gentleman retains a stiff upper lip,” what _bullshit–_ and from the nagging question of _why_ he hadn’t been told before this. His parents not visiting in hospital after his near death had been one thing. This was a whole other level. When his father had told him, although not in so many words, to be certain, that he wasn’t welcome at the funeral if he brought any of his _employees_ , he had wanted to _scream._

Somehow, he had walked out with a straight face, brimming with anger and crippling _heartbreak._

Finding Barnum on his doorstep was barely a surprise. He had been there every night since the first telegram.

“I should give you a key if you’re going to be around so much,” he said, unlocking the door. His voice sounded numb. He didn’t look around at the showman for his expression. He didn’t want to see it.

“I could always pick the lock.” An attempt at levity; Phillip didn’t take it. Barnum followed him quietly into the entrance way, and closed the door behind them. “Another telegram from Anne. She wasn’t sure if you wanted her to come by.”

 _God,_ he wanted her here, yes. He always did. And then he remembered his father’s subtle threat, all of the public knowing he’d been with Anne for months now, and the emotion boiled anew.

Phillip shrugged off his coat.

Another beat of silence, and then the dreaded question. It was blunted down into something indirect, dancing around the subject, but the real inquiry behind it was loud enough to deafen. “Will you be going back tomorrow?”

Phillip swallowed, and shook his head very slightly.

“…… I am sorry, Phillip.”

He wasn’t sure what it was about the words, but the emotion was suddenly _overflowing;_ his hands were clenched at his side and then he was slamming a fist into the wall, as hard as he was able. The shock of pain wasn’t enough to hold the tears at bay, or maybe it was _because_ of it that his eyes started to well up. He tried to hold them back for a moment, for two. And then he gave up, slumping forward to rest his forehead against the wall.

Everything hurt, from breathing, to the way Barnum stepped forward to put his hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t dare move, still save for the tears tracking down his face and the uneven breaths he forced himself to take. He didn’t know how long he stood there, his erstwhile companion silent, letting him grieve. When he was finished, when he _thought_ he was finished, Barnum was offering his arms and the idea of a hug from _P.T. Barnum_ was so _bizarre–_ and kind– he couldn’t help a strangled laugh. “Oh, what the hell,” he choked out, let Barnum hug him and let himself duck his head to his shoulder to hide a few more tears. He didn’t know how his hands ended up fisted in the front of the man’s coat as he cried, but he didn’t say anything, and neither did Barnum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually the first chapter I thought of and I cried a lot while brainstorming it finger guns anyway... through ups and downs... and Phin hugging him while he cries


	5. Injured

When he wasn’t actively performing, he forgot how _exhausting_ it was. Barnum had changed their opening yet again; Phillip was in the back of the ring, mirroring his actions to learn the new steps. They switched off, nowadays; sometimes he thought he ran the show more than Barnum did, but he didn’t care. He didn’t _mind._ He enjoyed it, more than he thought P.T. could ever know. But Barnum had been in the ring for the past month of shows– opening on show runs were always the most crucial, and people wanted to see the main man at the helm. But he’d be taking over soon, so P.T. was pushing the _practice, practice, practice_.

He executed the same jumping pirouette he’d watched Barnum do a number of times… and landed on the side of his foot instead the sole; there was a suspended second of sharp, pulling pain as his ankle rolled, and then he was following suit, trying to throw out his arms to catch himself so that he didn’t do more damage. “Shi–”

“Phillip.” Those immediate near him had converged on him after he fell; when he didn’t immediately jump back up, the rest of them were turning in concern.

“I’m fine, I…” He sucked in a breath through his teeth and tried not to cringe as he shifted. “Okay, I’m not.” His mind was a litany of curses as he shifted back to sit on the edge of the ring, letting Barnum immediately turn to investigate. _Clumsy._ How stupid. And he was supposed to be _back_ in the show so soon–

Pain shot up his calf again and he jerked on reflex, nearly kicking Barnum before the man ducked out of the way. “Christ, man, what are you doing?”

“It’s already swelling.”

Phillip groaned, letting his head fall back. This was _not the time._

Barnum looked up, gesturing off ring. “Call for the doctor.”

“Phillip??” Anne folded down next to him. There was still chalk on her hands, and Phillip stared at it blankly as she took ahold of his. God, had she just _swung_ down?

“Just my ankle,” he muttered, and squeezed her fingers. “I’ll be okay, I just need… rest, and ice.”

“What happened?! I didn’t even see–”

“I just… misstepped,” he muttered. “And now feel like a colossal idiot.” A pained smile, and he reached up to try and smooth the worry from her forehead. “Don’t worry, Annie.”

“Don’t _worry–”_

“Help me get him over there?” Barnum interrupted, looking at Anne. “Best to get him in one place and keep him there.”

“Right,” she agreed, all determination and tenacity, and Phillip groaned again as he was forced to put his arms around either of their shoulders to limp over to the seating.

“What was that about your partner taking over the show?” he asked dryly, flashing Barnum a _look._ “Good to have someone so reliable, huh.”

Barnum gave him a tight, worried smile– God, they were all looking at him like that. It was embarrassing, and… warming, sort of. “I can carry on for awhile longer. And if not, the show’ll just have to be cancelled.”

Phillip stared in horror. _Cancelled?_ Not just because of _him–_ the Barnum of old would have never _said_ such a thing–

But the Barnum of now was pushing forwards, helping him sit and then kneeling in front of the seats. “I’m going to take this off,” he said, a touch so fleeting it wasn’t really even one to the top of Phillip’s shoe. “But drink this first.” He produced a flask, pressing it firmly into Phillip’s hand, and shifted to one knee so that he could prop the injured ankle up on it. “I’ll be as careful as possible.”

Phillip took a swig of the whiskey and looked down at the elder. “You? Careful?”

Barnum shot him a half smile and murmured, “yes, will wonders never cease?”

Another dry laugh, and another pull off the flask, and then Phillip braced himself, and nodded. “Do you worst,” he joked. He held on too tightly to Anne’s hand, and tried to focus on Barnum’s soft reassurances as he worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also live for approximately any of them getting hurt and Barnum immediately being like move bitch, and not in the 'we won't have a show!' sort of way either
> 
> welllll next we're onto Barnum ~~I've tortured Phil enough for now~~


	6. +1 - Barnum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again some heavy stuff in this chap - check out the newest tags!

**\+ 1**

When Barnum didn’t show up at rehearsal, they knew something was wrong. Even with Phillip usually taking the reins these days, the man always stopped by if he had nothing to do, and Phillip had known for a fact that he had been planning to stop by to discuss updated performances in the afternoon. But he didn’t, and there was no telegram declaring where he was or whether they were to go home without the meeting. Uneasiness had settled in quick, and had kept all of them at the tent late into the evening, milling around without stating the questions they all had.

“Excuse me?”

Phillip straightened up, glancing around at the woman who had entered the tent. “My apologies, miss, but we’re not doing a show for another fortnight. You can’t be–”

“Oh, I know!” she interrupted. “I just meant to ask, what with Mr Barnum, if the show is still going to be on?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What with… what about Barnum, exactly?”

“He– you don’t know?”

There was ice in his veins. “Know _what?”_ His voice came out too brisk, and he was already on his feet. The rest of the troupe was staring too.

“His wife, sir… she’s passed away.”

A muted sense of agony, a kind he hadn’t felt in _years_ , washed over him. His ears were ringing. Charity… oh _god_ , P.T.–

He was numb as he continued to probe for information. He didn’t know what he said, really, but the woman eventually left. Phillip swiveled to face the rest of the troupe, thinking he was in shock, and their faces reflected the same. He didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

“Phillip.” Anne took ahold of his hand. He blindly reached in to hug her, to pull her in close against his chest and _hold_ her. He couldn’t _imagine–_

She pulled away after a moment, resting a hand on his chest. “You need to go,” she said softly, and he nodded without thinking. Of course.

“Tell him we’re here if he needs… anything,” Lettie said, and Phillip nodded again.

Of course, of course.

 

 

“We only just heard.” He clutched his hat beneath numb fingertips, swallowing back the ache in his heart. It wasn’t his to feel, not like that, not around Barnum. Charity had become their family, in a way, and they would all feel her loss. But _P.T…_

He looked world-weary. A vague shell of the man that had ever been so consistent in the ring, now dressed down in a jersey shirt and wrinkled trousers. His hair was tousled. He was barefoot even as he stood in the cold air where Phillip was shaking. His eyes were red, but tears were absent from his face.

Barnum’s lips parted slightly, a soft noise falling from between them. And then, quietly, “I forgot to telegram you…” As though it were the important thing.

Phillip held up his hand in dismissal, and then let it fall uselessly back to his side. They’d been partners for years, years and years now. He still didn’t know how to comfort the man, purely because it was usually Barnum taking care of _him._ “I’m… so sorry, P.T.”

Barnum smiled, eyes tight and face frank, and then gestured him inside. “Thank you. We appreciate that.”

He sounded like he was just running through the motions. Phillip knew the feeling. He knew that Barnum probably wasn’t _feeling_ much of anything, just numbness and grief and confusion. But then, even feeling that was probably too much.

“How are the girls?” he asked quietly, trying to dislodge the snow from his shoes.

“They’re…” P.T. looked too deep in thought for a moment, and then continued softly. “… so strong.” He motioned for the sitting room.

Phillip shed coat and hat and followed, eyes flitting around the room. An opened bottle of scotch on the table, an empty glass. He understood that all too well. “Of course they are. They’ve had good role models.”

Barnum hummed a small noise, maybe a laugh. His hands were clasped in front of him, the vaguest motion of them inching to wring together and he’d never seen him looking so _lost_. Not even after the fire. Christ, it made his heart hurt.

“Sit down, Barnum,” he murmured, waving to the chair. Perhaps most tellingly, Barnum sat, hands folding over his kneecaps and eyebrows drawn together. Phillip didn’t know what he was thinking. He probably didn’t want to. _Barnum_ probably didn’t even want to himself. He picked up the scotch and poured two fingers of it, turning to offer it down to his mentor.

“Ah, thank you.” He closed his fingers around it. “Feel free as usual, Phillip.”

A small detour to the cabinet for his own glass, and he poured himself a drink before situating himself down on the sofa. He settled to watching the fire; Barnum was staring into his drink. Phillip didn’t know what to say, but then, maybe he didn’t need to say anything at all. Maybe it defeated the purpose of visiting, but he didn’t think so.

The silence was companionable, if not heavy. P.T. was lost in his own world and Phillip let him be; no amount of distraction would help right now and he was positive that even the man himself wasn’t certain how he was meant to cope. Instead, Phillip rose to take his glass back to the stand, paused next to Barnum’s shoulder, and asked “another?” He wasn’t there to advocate his choices. When Barnum held the glass aloft and tapped a singular finger against it, Phillip willingly refilled. And then he returned to his seat, sans his own alcohol, and let the stillness continue.

He started to doze off at some point, their ringmaster, and that was when Phillip put an end to sitting in silence. He leaned over to take the glass from P.T.’s fingers, and caught a hand against his shoulder when he tried to sit up from the movement. “Hey, you need to get some rest. Long day.”

The look on Barnum’s face said _the longest,_ although he didn't say as much out loud. Instead, he just cleared his throat and sat up, dragging his hands through his hair. “Apologies, Phil, dozed off.”

“No, I’ve overstayed my welcome. You go to bed, I’ll head hom–” Something in Barnum’s expression caught and it likewise interrupted Phillip’s train of thought as well. Vulnerability, and the lack of desire to show it. He’d seen it a few times on him, but not so much. He supposed Barnum had long since talked himself out of showing that side of him to most people. But it gave Phillip pause, a tilt of the head, and a slow question he took upon himself to ask. “… unless… you want me to stay?”

Barnum’s expression cleared, and then turned what might have thoughtful if it didn’t just look sad. “You’ll be wanting to get back to your own wife, I presume…”

“Anne told me to come. I mean, I would have anyway, but she’s not gonna worry if I don’t get back tonight. She understands. We all do.”

He looked so uncertain. He hated seeing him that way, and couldn't do a damn thing to fix it. “If you're certain it's– I just mean… would you?” he said, and sounded so _wretched._

Phillip gave a small smile. He leaned in, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “You don't even need to ask, Barnum.”

The elder man looked at him for a moment, a long moment, and then nodded as though he ought not to agree. “The spare bedroom, then, I insist.”

It was unnecessary, truly, but he let Barnum have his way. He didn't have the heart to argue; the less he did, the sooner P.T. would go rest. And god knew he would need the sleep. He probably wouldn't get much soon after this, whether he wanted to or not.

The spare room was familiar, many a night spent working well past twelve as they handled the show. It had become necessity at the time, it had made life easier. Now it felt… empty, even though nothing was missing from the room at all. Except Barnum’s ever optimistic personality, and the knowledge that Charity was right downstairs if either of them needed anything. So two things. Two very important things.

Phillip sighed, and draped his arm over his eyes.

 

 

Sleep came fitfully, in pulses and bursts. He woke up too early and didn’t dare go back to sleep. He’d stay there until late morning if he did, and P.T. didn’t invite him to stay in to sleep all day. He… didn’t know exactly what to do, in the meantime. Breakfast, maybe. Cooking had never been his forte and popcorn cereal wasn’t what the Barnums needed. Maybe he would… see if there was anything in the kitchen. Maybe he should telegram Anne… she was much better at, well, everything, and the girls would be more likely to talk to her than him… speaking of, at least they seemed to still be asleep. And Barnum would… would…

Phillip stopped outside of the Barnum’s bedroom, frowning at the open door. He dropped his hand from the buttons on his vest and carefully stepped forward to peer inside. P.T. wasn’t there; the bed hadn’t even been turned down. “Oh Jesus.” He turned and strode down the hallway. Barnum was meant to have gone to _bed._ And the man was always so unpredictable in the best of times; his wife had always been his biggest support and with her gone, who knew what he would do or where he would _go_ in his grief–

– but there, on the sofa. Phillip slowed to a stop, resting his hand on the door frame. Barnum was asleep all right, sprawled out across the sofa that was too small for him, a flimsy blanket draped haphazard about his waist. He was still wearing what he had been last night. The bottle of scotch was still open.

Letting his hand fall from the doorway, Phillip sighed, quietly, so not to wake him; at least he was getting _some_ kind of sleep. He went to slowly fix the blanket, holding his breath as he tucked it around his shoulders. He didn’t wake up. Phillip sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

He was well into a third cup of coffee when their ringmaster stumbled into the kitchen, all bedhead and puffy eyes. “Hey.”

“Morning.” Phillip made to stand up, but Barnum waved him to stay put, and staggered for the kettle. “You were meant to go to bed last night, P.T.”

“I did.”

“Your actual bed. I know how uncomfortable that couch is, if you forget.”

“Ahh…” Fingers curled around the cup of coffee, and Barnum smiled faintly into it. “It was quite obviously more empty than I'm used to,” he said, hooking his ankle around the chair to pull it out. “I came back downstairs.”

“… oh.” He couldn’t say anything to that.

Barnum smiled wryly, and interested himself in his coffee.

It was a ham and egg sandwich later, after Anne had dropped by to peck a kiss to Barnum’s cheek and then whisk upstairs to visit the children, and more coffee than Phillip had ever seen the two of them combined drink– and that was saying something, given it _was_ the two of them– that P.T. finally spoke up about, somehow still surprisingly, the show.

“You should be going. You’ll have things you probably need to do, and we have shows that we should still–”

“Cancel them.”

“You–”

“Come on, Barnum,” he interrupted gently. “All of them– me– how are we supposed to concentrate? She was…” Probably, he was straying into territory he had no business stepping into, or not admitting out loud. “I mean, she was there for the rest of us, too, whenever we needed, so…”

For a moment, Barnum looked at him like he couldn’t comprehend the words coming from his mouth. Then his gaze dropped, back to the coffee cup before him, and he cracked a small, crooked smile. “Right. She always did say you all were like family too. My apologies, Phillip.” He swallowed, and then raised his head again. “Cancel the show. We can…”

“We can pick up the pieces later,” Phillip said firmly.

“Pick up the pieces… yeah.” His face changed again, multitudes of emotion Phillip had rarely seen before, and then he was leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. “How the _hell_ am I supposed to do that…”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out.” He reached across the table, curling fingers around the crook of Barnum’s arm. “Alright? We’re all here with you. No matter what you need. Same as always.”

“I know, I know.” He scrubbed his hands against his face and then dropped them back to the tabletop. After looking at Phillip for a moment, his expression softened again, and he repeated, quieter, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline for this movie is a mess, as we all probably know, but! I imagine this probably taking place ~10 years after tGS. Plenty of time for Barnum to have gotten himself settled again (and in this verse, having had another kid although I didn't explicitly say it in this fic) - the circus is still going, Phil's gotten himself married to Anne, etc etc... far enough ahead that words truly are unnecessary between them all
> 
> and that's all for this fic! I've said it before, but I'm blown away by the attention this received?? It was just a silly little thing I did purely for my own entertainment and didn't think anyone would be interested (niche fandom, lol) and I'm beyond pleased so many people enjoyed it. There's more tGS on the horizon (so, very soon) that focuses on Phil & Phin and Phil/Anne... but mostly it's just - surprise, surprise - focusing on Phil himself lmao thanks for all the comments, subs, and kudos friends!! mwah <3
> 
> come scream at me about tgs on [twitter](https://twitter.com/WalkTallFriends)


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